In The Past Stages
by infinitesimalistherainbow
Summary: An AU in which Victor Sweet is still the bad guy and Jack Mercer is the leading man. Jack is trying to navigate the uncharted territory of eighteenth birthdays, returning brothers, past demons and desperate mothers.
1. Like the Ripper?

**One:**  
Sort of making it is sitting in the back of a club (the crappy V.I.P section) with a heavy arm resting on your shoulder and the rough velour scratching against your neck. Jack's thin body is wracked with nervousness, his slender, spidery fingers playing with the band aid on his knee. Jimmy, with his arm over Jack's shoulder, is dressed like an Italian mobster and smells like a precocious fourteen year old invited to prom, trying ever so hard to make himself seem grown up. One of the big boys. His hair is slicked back with heavy gel that's sending small beads of sweat down the back of his neck. He retracts his arm to wipe the sweat away from his forehead and bites his lip only to return his arm to Jack's shoulder once more.

Jack is eyeing the half empty beer on the table which isn't his but is still half empty and missing it's owner. He keeps his eyes on the water droplets, sliding down the bottle, knowing that if he doesn't reach out for it soon it'll get warm.

Jimmy has big plans for the club. He wants better alcohol. He wants better entertainment. He wants it to be the popular stop for all celebrity feet entering Detroit's border. He wants Jack to convince some guy that Jimmy can attract all of the underground, indie bands and that that'll in turn attract the younger clubbers.

"You want some coke?"

Jimmy is already high.

"No,"

"You did good tonight,"

And lying. Jack did horrible.

"I'm happy you think so,"

Sort of making it is getting done with a set and walking up to the bar only to be carded and turned down. Sort of making it is slyly explaining to the bartender that you were just up on stage and having her raise an eyebrow and say 'oh really', in the end, offering her phone number and nothing else. Sort of making it is sitting around a table with your band mates, all of them drunk and you completely sober. The only seventeen year old of the group.

You, the designated driver. You, the one that's sober enough to know right from wrong. You, the one that's sober enough to be pulled into a meeting with some guy you've never met, just to convince him to invest in some shitty club you don't even want to be in, in the first place.

"You sure you don't want some coke?" Jimmy asks again, running his hand over his forehead once more and resting his arm on Jack's shoulder once more, "fuck," he reaches into his sweat suit's pocket, pulling out a small bag, "Vic is taking forever. I'm gonna' wet my pants in a minute,"

"What's this about pissing your pants Jimmy? I thought we were over that,"

Jack's insides become instantly knotted, his cheeks warm. He sees why Jimmy is so nervous.

The man is average height, black, with a roughly cut hairdo and an expensive suit on. Too expensive. The kind of expensive that shouldn't be in some crappy, Detroit club sitting across from some man with gelled down hair and track suit.

"Jesus Christ," he takes a seat in the booth across from Jack and Jimmy, "give the kid some room, you trying to take him home tonight or something?"

Jimmy pulls away, smoothing down the fabric over his knees, nervously laughing.

"How old are you kid?"

"Eighteen,"

"Jimmy said you were seventeen,"

"Eighteen next week though," Jack chokes out.

The guy across from him takes a long nod, pulling out a cigar from a container he pulled out of his pocket.

"You smoke kiddo?"

"No,"

"Fucking liar," he chuckles to himself, passing Jack a lit cigar.

Jack sucks in the smoke, his natural impulse to cough up the air. As coolly as he can though, he turns his face from the man, and covers his mouth with his right hand.

"Come on, don't spoil him. He's sweet,"

Sort of making it is missing Jimmy's velour sweat suit scratching your neck. Missing his heavy arm resting on your shoulder. Sort of making it is wishing that he would do something to steal you away from the situation, because you're sitting across from the man wearing the most expensive suit you've ever seen and with your limited knowledge of money (Bobby showing up with five hundred bucks randomly and not having any work to account for it or Angel stuffing wads of cash into Evelyn's purse and being surprised by the quiet Jack, in the kitchen doorway, watching silently) distrusting him automatically.

"Well guys, I would love to stay here forever and chat it up with you guys but the family is waiting,"

"Vic," Jimmy says, finally seeming to gain back some of his confidence, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

The man looks over at Jack and agrees, obviously reluctantly, to follow Jimmy outside of the V.I.P booth and into the back room of the club. When Jimmy walks past Jack gets a thorough view of his face and finally realizes how messed up he looks, his eyes all red from the Cocaine and nails all bitten down, the corners of most of them bleeding.

Jack uses the opportunity to sneak out of the booth, but not before grabbing the luke warm beer on the table. When walking past Jack sees the man leaning against the boxes of condiments that'll sit there for years and Jimmy rambling on nervously, his hands being thrown around excitedly. The only portion of the conversation he hears is "…he was great right?…"

And with that, he's out of there.

Jack emerged from the club before finally remembering Jerry couldn't pick him up.

"You missing something?"

"A ride,"

For some reason, with the breeze hitting him and the lukewarm bottle of beer in his hand, he wasn't so afraid of the man.

"How'd your talk go with Jimmy?"

"Jimmy's a gay coke fiend," he paused, and then said what every homophobic man says, "not that, there's anything wrong with that, but they usually don't make very good business deals. I mean, he wants me to own half of this club and pay all,"

"You don't have to sugar coat it,"

"What?"

"I'm not gay, you don't have to sugar coat it for me,"

"You aren't huh? What's your name kid?"

"Jack,"

"Like the ripper?"

"Yeah, I guess so,"

Sort of making it is sticking behind anyone that you may just like so they don't have to see you walking home. Sort of making it is being forced to walk because your mother (without her ever saying it) doesn't trust you not to drive drunk and end up in a ditch somewhere and thus can't bring herself to get you an actual car.

"That's cute. Although I guess it's not much better than mine huh?"

"I don't know. You never introduced yourself,"

"I didn't huh?" a silence fell before the man finally said, "I'm Victor Sweet,"

AN: Ok. Here we go. So, everyone knows I don't own Four Brothers but what they may not have picked up on in the summary is that this is an AU. I want to do an AU where Victor Sweet is still the main bad guy, that still involves all of the main players, but revolves around the youngest Mercer. By the way, all of the Mercers are younger than in the movie, as you see, Jack is eighteen. Not sure what the updating pattern will be on this. I want to revise each chapter as much as I can though so, we'll see. Don't forget to review :D


	2. Is it not your birthday in two days?

**Two:  
**Believe it or not, Jack wasn't expecting Bobby to actually come home. He wasn't expecting Bobby to want to go out to eat.

He had seen Evelyn's car gone, which did seem a bit strange for a Saturday and he had suspected she was busy buying up food for Bobby's stay but walking into his room to find him there was still a bit surreal.

Bobby's car looked the same it used to look when he was little. Always providing some foreign concept of how it was to be grown up. Always offering some small solace. When he was younger, Jack wanted to be just like Bobby. He wanted to be able to threaten people like him. He wanted everyone to know him. But most of all, he wanted the car. Back then it wasn't so beaten up. Back then, it was blue, until Bobby had gotten the paint job. Back then, Jack wanted to be Bobby. He would come home from school and see it there and run into the house, where Bobby awaited. Evelyn always cooked a feast and hung off of her oldest son's every word, despite everyone knowing they were lies. If not lies, exaggerations.

Bobby used to stay longer. He would come home and stay there. Home, was really home. It was the place Bobby would come after the season was over and the place he would stay while he worked some odd jobs and checked out all of his old connects.

Bobby was like the uncle in the movie. The one that randomly pops up with stories of his escapades and small, gift shop trinkets. You only figure out that he's really running away from the police or the dealers or the bookies when you overhear your parents talking about it and by then you're so in love with him that even the revelation that he's been engaging in illegal activity for so long doesn't even faze you.

All week Evelyn had been telling him that Bobby would be back during the weekend and yet, even with it being Saturday, and even with the car being in the driveway, he was still surprised to see Bobby watching some crappy basic cable movie. He was surprised to find himself plagued with a certain anxiousness. One he hadn't felt since Bobby had left.

" Ma said you lost your key. Said to stay here for you. Thanks for ruining my date," Bobby remarked, cutting the TV off and lying down on Jack's bed, yawning. He had been working out.

"What are you doing here?"

"What did I just say?"

"No, I mean seriously, what are you doing in Detroit?"

Bobby let out a long, drawn out sigh, sitting up once more.

This is how Bobby coming home goes: for the first few days he's as annoying as possible. He walks in on Jack in the shower. He eats Jack's left over food in the refrigerator. He somehow manages to obstruct all TV watching except his own. He tricks Evelyn into believing he's been doing honorable shit. He gives everyone advice despite him being a very well-known fuck up and he incurs, at least, one police visit. Then, he starts staying out longer. He's always staying the night at some non-existent girlfriend's house. Then, he's gone. He's promising to come back. Promising to call. Promising not to get into trouble. He's gone.

That's Bobby.

"Am I way off track or is it not your birthday in two days?"

"You were never here for my birthday before,"

"And keep it up I wont stick around for this one, sweetheart"

"Don't call me that?"

"Call you what?" Bobby said, propping himself up on his elbows. They sunk into the soft bed and a wide smile spread across his face.

"You know what. Sweetheart. That isn't my name,"

"Don't be so touchy madam fairy pants,"

"You're an asshole,"

Bobby didn't respond. He shifted around on the bed a bit. He sighed a bit. Then he said:

"I'm happy I came home for this birthday ok? Truce?" it was half muffled by Bobby's bull shirt sincerity but Jack heard it just as much as he disbelieved it.

"You didn't come home for my birthday. You just don't want to tell me what you really came home for,"

"Get dressed. Ma said to feed you. She had to work overtime,"

"I am dressed,"

"Come on Jack," Bobby stood up, smoothing over the wrinkled comforter he had been lying on, "I doubt everyone in the restaurant wants to see your package. Besides, you can stop man-catching long enough to put on some jeans that fit,"

"Get out please," Jack rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Don't be so modest girlie. No one cares about you getting undressed,"

* * *

The waitress was flirting with Bobby. She would direct all inquires in his direction. Even when Jack was ordering, she kept her eyes quietly centered on Bobby. Bobby acted like he couldn't and didn't notice. He kept his gaze hovering somewhere between the menu and salt and pepper shakers. He kept his gaze anywhere but on the woman with her fake blonde hair and red lipstick.

"She's pretty cute to be hitting on an old guy. I would take it if I were you."

"Ah, Jackie boy attracted to a woman. What a change,"

Jack lowered his voice to a near whisper.

"You don't even have any other insults. All you do is insinuate I'm gay. Am I supposed to be insulted by that?"

"What, you afraid of the people around us hearing?" Bobby made a motion with his hand.

"That's why she looks like a man,"

"Knew there was a reason you noticed her. Who was that guy that dropped you off last night?"

"What do you care?"

"Angel said he pulled up in a Hummer. You got some new sugar daddy I should know about?"

"Assuming I had an old one?"

"Assuming you aren't upset about me brining up and noting your homosexuality but instead merely with the inaccuracies of my records,"

"No, assuming that I'm used to you being a douche bag, asshole that can't--"

"Spaghetti with meatballs and the Red Bacon Burger," the waitress bent down a bit to slide both plates in front of the two brothers.

"Can I get you anything else?" she, of course, directed this to Bobby who looked to Jack for an answer.

"Ketchup please,"

"Coming right up," she grabbed the bottle from the table next to them.

"As you were saying?" Bobby questioned, his brown eyes following the rotation of his fork.

"He's some guy that's buying up the club I play at and if Jerry hadn't of backed out on my ride he wouldn't have had to bring me home anyway,"

"He a land developer?"

"I don't know. Why do you care so much?"

"Because before I left you were doing some really bad things and I'm trying to make sure you aren't around people that can get you back into those things," Bobby, upon finishing his sentence, found Jack's face. His eyes trailed the outline of his features.

His eyes had become a bit smaller over the years. Not as wide and sad. Maybe a little less blue. As long as they weren't red rimmed, Bobby was fine. As long as they weren't obviously glazed over with whatever drug he had taken.

Jack quieted down, took another bite of his burger and tried to focus on anything other than Bobby.

He got why he didn't want to look at her. She, perhaps unconsciously, saw Bobby as some end to a boring day. Maybe even a boring life. She saw Bobby as an invitation to something new and inviting and fresh. She saw Bobby as something he wasn't.

She saw Bobby as someone other than a man with the creases of time beginning to appear in his forehead. She saw Bobby as someone other than a man that would drive the same car until he died, unless he did something horribly illegal. She saw Bobby as someone he wasn't.

Jack focused on the wallpaper of the restaurant, wondering what Evelyn had been doing that was so important. He focused on whatever was considered not focusing on Bobby, knowing that whenever he did focus on Bobby he would have to confront the idea that it was very probable he would let Bobby down.

A silence fell between the two and Bobby felt a bit bad in that time.

"You're about to be eighteen and I know that, that means you're a grown up now. No more running to ma every time something happens," there was another long pause, "I got temporarily suspended,"

"What? For what?"

"Some stupid stuff that shouldn't have happened. But anyway, I haven't told ma yet but I guess I'm going to be spending some more time here than she thinks. And by the way, I was planning on spending the week of your birthday here. Just not the weeks after it,"


End file.
